;;      Ij 


LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

GERALD  HOWLAND 


BY 

BLISS   CARMAN 

Five  Volumes  as  follows  : 
From  the  Book  of  Myths 
From  the  Green  Book  of  the  Bards 
Songs  of  the  Sea  Children 
Songs  from  a  Northern   Garden 
From  the  Book  of  Valentines 

Eacb  I  vol..,  cloth  .     net  $i.oo 

Each  I  vol.  y  flexible  leathery  net  I.^O 

L.    C.    PAGE   &   COMPANY 

New  Englaftd  Building 
Boston,  Mass. 


Copyright,  1899,  by 
The  Cbntory  Compaky 

Copyright,  1902,  by 
AiKSLEE  Magazine  Company 

Copyright,  1903,  by 
The  Ridgway- Thayer  Company 

Copyright,  1903,  igos,  by 
The  Ess  Ess  Publishing  Company  (Incorporated) 

Copyright,  1904,  1905,  by 
The  Associated  Sunday  Magazine 

Copyright,  1905,  by 
L.  C.  Page  &  Company  (Incorporated) 

All  rights  reserved 


COLONIAL   PRESS 

Electrotyfied  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &*  Co. 

Boston,  U.S.A. 


VR 


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CONTENTS. 

Page 

Ballad  of  the  Young  King's  Madness  .     .  i 

Across  the  Courtyard 20 

A  Neighbour's  Creed ,  32 

To  One  in  Despair 35 

At  the  Great  Release 39 

Morning  and  Evening 42 

In  an  Iris   Meadow 44 

A  Letter  from  Lesbos 47 

The  Players 59 

The  Mansion 61 

Who  Is  the   Owner  ? 64 

The  Fairy  Flower 66 

YVANHOE    FeRRARA     68 

The   Love  -  chant  of  King  Hacko     ...  73 

The  Creation  of  Lilith 77 

In  a  Far  Country 80 

Song  of  the  Four  Worlds 83 

Street  Song  at   Night 89 

vii 


CONTENTS 


The  Least  of  Love 92 

A  Man's  Last  Word 95 

A  Midwinter  Memory 99 

An  Angel  in  Plaster 102 


BALLAD   OF   THE   YOUNG 
KING'S    MADNESS. 

In  a  Kingdom  long  ago,  as  the  story  comes  to  me, 

There  lived  a  sturdy  folk  by  the  borders  of  the 
sea; 

The  snow-tipped  mountains  behind  them  guard- 
ing the  East  and  the  North, 

While  open  to  Southward  and  Westward,  were 
the  sea-gates  bidding  them  forth. 

Launching    their    boats    through    the    breakers, 

casting  their  nets  in  the  tide. 
The  sea  had   given   them   daring,   strength   and 

endurance  and  pride; 
Watching  their  sheep  with  the  eagles  on  many  a 

lonely  hill, 


THE      YOUNG       KINg's       MADNESS 

The  stars  had  given  them  knowledge  and  insight 
and  ghostly  skill ; 

For  wisdom  comes  to  the  waiting  as  water  comes 
to  a  mill, 

From  unsluiced  sources  of  silence  where  the  chat- 
ter of  life  grows  still. 

I. 

Over  this  sturdy  people  there  ruled  without 
favour  or  greed 

A  man  with  the  arm  and  heart  of  the  olden 
kingly  breed. 

There  was  never  a  sport  nor  contest,  there  was 
never  a  horse  to  tame, 

But  the  King  would  meet  all  comers,  and  was 
ever  first  in  the  game. 

A  speaker  of  truth  to  all  men,  he  carried  his  will 
with  a  word ; 

And  Justice  dwelt  in  his  borders,  nor  ever  un- 
sheathed her  sword. 

2 


THE      YOUNG       KING     S       MADNESS 

Likable,  open  and  reckless,  he  neither  bullied  nor 

feared, 
When   over  the   rim   of   his  empire   threatening 

danger  appeared, 
But   in   the   face  of   his   council   laughed   in   his 

yellow  beard. 

Yet  his  light-heart  ways  were  a  scandal  to  the 

seemly  and  the  sage, 
He  would  turn  from  the  weightiest  business  to 

rally  a  love-sick  page, 
Twitting  him  for  a  laggard,  making  him  blush 

with  a  jest. 
Shaming   him    for   a   waster   by   the   good   wine 

spilt  on  his  vest. 

Never  a  band  of  minstrels  passed,  but  he  bade 

them  in, 
Haling  the  lads  by  the  shoulder,  taking  the  maids 

by  the  chin  ; 

3 


THE      YOUNG       KING     S       MADNESS 

Till  the  courtyard  gleamed  with  motley,  and  the 
palace  rang  with  din. 

Courtiers  lived  on  his  bounty,  lights-of-love 
supped  at  his  board. 

Merry  the  time  he  gave  them,  priceless  the  wine 
he  poured, 

Lavish  of  all  his  substance  for  the  gay  and  care- 
less horde; 

Till  long  lips  groaning  abhorrence  had  evil  things 
to  foretell. 

But  always  the  children  loved  him,  and  the 
women  —  passing  well. 

II. 

So  time  wore  on,  and  the  King  awoke  one  day 

with  a  start, 
To  hear  a  strange  new  whisper  of  discontent  in 

his  heart. 


THE      YOUNG      KING     S       MADNESS 

Pleasure  he  had  in  plenty,  health,  and  compan- 
ions, and  power; 

Yet  what  is  all  this  life  but  a  void  and  empty 
hour? 

Fair  was  the  golden  morning  with  April   over 

the  hill. 
He  strolled  to  the  gate  of  the  palace  and  stood 

there  grave  and  still, 
Watching  the  mountain  shadows,  then  shut  his 

teeth  on  his  will. 
"  Bring  me  a  horse,"  he  ordered.     They  saddled 

his  favourite  bay; 
And  down  through  the  watered  valley  the  young 

King  rode  away; 
Down  through  the  flowery  orchards,  where  the 

river  babbles  and  shines, 
Past  ford  and  smithy  and  farm,  and  up  where  the 

narrowing  lines 


THE      YOUNG       KING      S       MADNESS 

Of  tillage  and  pasture  vanish  in  the  dusk  of  the 

purple  pines. 
How  speculation  and  rumour  fluttered  his  folk 

that  day! 
"  Who  can  fathom  his  fancies?    Mad  as  a  hare!  " 

said  they. 

In  a  cleft  of  the  solemn  mountains,  like  a  thought 

in  earth's  green  heart, 
Stood  a  hospice  of  recluse  men,  quiet,  secluded, 

apart, 
Having  forgotten  the  world  and  left  distraction 

behind. 
For  care  of  the  troublous  want  and  hunger  of  the 

mind. 

There  as  the  night  was  falling,  the  King  on  his 

red  mare  came. 
And  they  have  welcomed  the  stranger,  asking  not 

station  nor  name. 

6 


THE      YOUNG      KING     S      MADNESS 

Who  bides  at  the  house  of  God  needs  neither 
money  nor  fame. 

Never  an  eyelid  flickered,  never  a  word  betrayed 

They  knew  the  habit  and  bearing  accustomed  to 
be  obeyed ; 

But  after  the  rule  of  their  order,  equal  in  every- 
thing. 

With  kingly  love  for  a  brother  the  brothers  served 
their  King. 

They  gave  him  his  seat  at  table,  cell  and  habit 

and  stall. 
The  scanty  fare  and  the  hours  of  prayer,  meekly 

he  took  them  all ; 
Nor  ever  they  found  him  wanting  in  duties  great 

or  small. 

Lowly  he  sat  before  them  and  many  a  lecture 
heard, 

7 


THE      YOUNG       KING     S       MADNESS 

Questioned   and   reasoned   and   listened,   argued, 

proved  and  conferred, 
And  by  many  a  lonely  candle  pondered  the  printed 

word. 

Daily  the  power  of  knowledge  grew  and  spread 
in  his  face; 

Daily  the  look  of  the  scholar  glowed  with  a  finer 
trace ; 

Daily  the  tan-flush  faded  and  ever  he  grew  in 
grace, 

As  understanding  within  him  climbed  to  her  law- 
ful place. 

So  from  the  man  of  sinew  they  made  a  student 

at  last. 
Thoughtful  and  grave  as  he  had  been  brave ;   till, 

lo,  three  }^ears  had  passed, 
And  the  young  King  yawned  one  day,  stretching 

himself  in  the  sun, 
8 


THE      YOUNG       KING     S       MADNESS 

And  murmured :  "  Now  let's  see  what  their  book- 
learning  has  done! 

The  arms  grow  feeble,  alack!  The  foot  and  eye 
grow  slow; 

Let's  put  their  lore  to  the  test.  Good  friends, 
this  day  I  go." 

So  said,  so  done.    Mused  the  Brothers,  watching 

him  down  the  hill : 
"  Feeble  must  be  our  virtue,  if  this  hope  comes  to 

ill." 
They  saw  him  lost  in  dust;    and  the  sundown's 

dying  rose 
Kindled  their  lofty  hill-crest  in  its  eternal  snows. 

III. 

Now    well    the    Kingdom    prospered    while    the 

young  King  was  away, 
For  wise  were  the  heads  of  his  council,  leaders 

of  men  in  their  day, 
9 


THE      YOUNG       KING     S       MADNESS 

Stubborn  at  fronting  clamour,  strong  to  govern 

and  sway, 
Of  tested  honour  and  flawless  tried  in  the  world's 

assay. 

Yet  there  was  joy  at  his  coming,  throngs  that 

laughed  with  delight, 
Cheers  as  he  passed  and  waving,  children  held  in 

his  sight, 
Flags  hung  out  at  the  windows,  and  bonfires  lit 

in  the  night. 
Comrades  met  on  the  corner,  cronies  talked  in 

the  door, 
"  The  merry  times  are  returning;   we  shall  have 

revels  once  more." 

But   they  reckoned   without   their   host,    if   they 

thought  the  glorious  days 
Of  the  King's  wild  youth  had  returned  with  their 

drinking  and  masques  and  plays. 


THE      YOUNG       KING     S       MADNESS 

Sober  he  sat   at  council,   wisely   he  judged   and 

decreed, 
Till    the    frivolous    gaped    and    muttered :     "A 

paragon  indeed !  " 

Tireless,  toiling  and  thoughtful,  steadfast,  kingly 
and  tall. 

But  lonely  he  lived,  unloving,  blameless  before 
them  all. 

With  never  a  rose  in  his  bower  nor  a  bosom- 
friend  in  his  hall. 

And  ever  his  brow  grew  whiter,   his  eye  more 

hungry  bright. 
For  the  blessing  of  peace  escaped  him,  though  he 

toiled  by  day  and  night. 
By  lamplight  and  daylight  he  laboured,  till  his 

visage  grew  lean  and  grim. 
While  his  people  saw  and  wondered,  and  their 

hearts  went  out  to  him. 
II 


THE      YOUNG      KING     S       MADNESS 

So  he  strove  for  a  year  or  more,  and  never  was 
seen  to  fail 

In  the  least  or  the  greatest  matter  where  dili- 
gence might  avail. 

Yet  ever  he  grew  more  restless,  and  ever  his 
cheek  more  pale. 

IV. 

Now  it  chanced   on   another  morning  like   that 

when  he  rode  away, 
The  King  must  come  to  his  seaboard,  where  a 

foreign  galleon  lay. 
Black  hull  and  gleaming  canvas,  with  her  decks 

in  trim  array; 
Long  and   graceful  and   speedy  as  a  flying  fish 

was  she, 
Showing  the  scarlet  pennon  of  the  gj^psies  of  the 

sea. 


THE      YOUNG       KING     S       MADNESS 

There  in  a  dream  he  stood;    watching  the  surf 

and  the  sand ; 
Then  all  of  a  sudden  he  laughed,  as  the  rowers 

rowed  to  land. 
"  God  of  my  fathers,"  he  cried.     "  What  manner 

of  fool  am  I? 
A  landsman  all  my  life,  a  sea-king  will  I  die." 

Needs  must  they  humour  him  then,  whispering, 

"  Mad  once  more!  " 
As  they  heard  him  speak  to  the  sailors,  and  saw 

him  rowed  from  the  shore. 
Small  room  to  parley  or  caution,  and  smaller  use 

to  deplore; 
When  a  strong  man  comes  to  his  stronghold,  fate 

must  yield  him  the  door. 

Lightly  he  stood  in  the  boat,  when  the  bending 
rowers  rowed ; 


13 


THE      YOUNG       KING     S       MADNESS 

And  the  wind  and  the  tide  and  the  sun  freshened 

and  sparkled  and  glowed. 
There  lay  the  sea  before  him  fair  as  an  open  road. 

Last  they  saw  of  the  King  was  at  the  helmsman's 

side, 
Gay  in  the  light  of  adventure,  while  the  vessel 

swung  on  the  tide. 
With  a  song   they  hove  her   anchor;     the  sails 

drew  taut  and  free; 
And  she  heeled  to  the  wind  and  lessened  on  the 

long  blue  slope  of  the  sea. 

V. 

The  sun  came  up,  the  sun  went  down,  the  tide 
drew  out  and  in, 

But  never  a  word  that  seaport  heard  from  for- 
eigner or  kin, 

Rower,  merchant,  or  sailorman,  or  the  gypsies  of 
the  sea, 

14 


THE       YOUNG       KING     S       MADNESS 

Whither  their  prince  had  vanished,  or  what  his 

fate  might  be; 
Till   a  thousand   suns  had  circled,   and  twice  a 

thousand  tides 
Had    swung    the    swaying    harbour    buoys    and 

brimmed  through  the  channel  guides. 

Then  through  a  winter  twilight  w^hen   the  sun 

was  a  disk  of  red. 
The  keen-eyed  watcher  beheld,  as  he  gazed  from 

the  harbour-head, 
A  moving  speck  like  a  seahawk  crossing  that  targe 

of  flame; 
And    beating    up    from    the    sea-rim    the    gypsy 

galleon  came. 

And    why    is    she    decked    with    pennons,    and 

trimmed  with  cloth  of  gold? 
And  what  are  these  scarlet  trappings  the  harbour 

folk  behold? 

IS 


THE      YOUNG      KING     S       MADNESS 

What  means  her  glory  of  banners  fluttering  on 

the  breeze, 
Brave  as  the  coloured  autumn  that  is  the  pride 

of  the  trees? 
Has  she  rifled  a  sea-king's  treasure  and  plundered 

the  isles  of  the  seas? 

Slowly  she  passed  the  entry,  the  white  sails  low- 
ered and  furled, 

And  there  was  our  long-lost  truant  from  the 
other  side  of  the  world. 

On  the  deck  he  stood,  the  figure  of  a  man  to 
make  men  bold, 

A  browned  and  hardy  master,  as  debonair  as  of 
old. 

The  strength  of  his  hands  as  aforetime,  the 
scholar's  light  on  his  brow, 

But  something  passing  knowledge  in  his  look  and 
bearing  now, 


i6 


THE      YOUNG       KING     S       MADNESS 

The  calm  of  a  radiant  purpose,  the  joy  of  unerr- 
ing quest, 

The  poise  of  perfected  being  when  the  soul  attains 
her  best. 

He  had  ruled  with  power  and  pleasure,  he  had 
searched  and  found  out  lore; 

And  now  his  unfainting  spirit  had  discovered  the 
one  thing  more. 

But  the  curious  eye  forsook  him  to  greet  with 

amazed  regard 
Another  who  stood  at  the  taffrail  by  the  sheet 

of  the  great  main-yard ; 
Fine  as  a  mast  in  stature,  eager,  unflinching,  and 

free. 
With  hair  like  the  sun's  raw  gold  and  eyes  like 

crumbs  of  the  sea; 
Straight-browed  —  the   imperial   bearing   of   one 

who  is  born  to  sway. 


17 


THE      YOUNG       KING     S       MADNESS 

Deep-bosomed  with  all   the  ardour  that  kindles 

our  wondrous  clay ; 
Regent  of  glad  dominions,  a  sea-trove  out  of  the 

vast 
Wide  welter  of  life.    "  A  hostage  fit  for  our  king 

at  last!" 

Threefold  is  the  search  for  perfection  that  leads 

through  creation's  plan  — 
Through    immemorial    nature    and    the    restless 

heart  of  man ; 
Beauty  of  shape  and  colour  to  gladden  and  profit 

the  eye, 
Truth  beyond   cavil  or  question   to   answer  the 

reason  why. 
And  the  blameless  spirit's  portion  —  the  joy  that 

shall  not  die. 

The  dauntless  soul  must  w^ander  to  accomplish 
and  attain 

i8 


THE       YOUNG       KING     S       MADNESS 

This  balance  of  all  her  powers  by  the  lead  of 

love,  or  remain 
A  stranger  to  peace  forever  in  sorrow,  defeat,  and 

pain. 

Flushed  with  the  cheers  of  welcome,  lightly  the 

king,  all  pride. 
Handed  the  girl,  all  beauty,  over  the  vessel's  side. 
Then  in  a  lull  of  their  salvos,  to  the  wondering 

crowd  that  rings 
The  pierhead,  eager  to  question,  "  Our  queen," 

said  the  sanest  of  kings. 


19 


ACROSS    THE    COURTYARD. 

That  is  the  window  over  there 
With  the  closed  shutters  and  the  air 
Of  a  deserted  place,  like  those 
Abandoned  homesteads  whose  repose 
Haunts  us  with  mystery.     Inside 
Who  knows  what  tragedy  may  hide  ? 

This  window  has  been  sealed  up  so 
A  fortnight  now.    A  month  ago 
Just  about  dusk  you  should  have  seen 
The  vision  I  saw  smile  and  lean 
From  that  same  window.    Spring's  return, 
When  daffodils  and  jonquils  burn 
Under  the  azure  April  day, 
Is  not  more  lovely  nor  more  gay. 
20 


ACROSS      THE      COURTYARD 

The  world  —  at  least,  our  artist  world 

Where  tubes  are  pinched  and  brushes  twirled 

In  the  long  task  to  reproduce 

God's  masterpieces  for  man's  use  — 

Knows  Jacynth  for  the  loveliest 

Of  all  its  models  and  the  best. 

Why,  half  the  portraits  in  the  town, 

From  Mrs.  Bigwig,  Jr.'s  down, 

Have  that  same  perfect  taper  hand- 

(If  you  have  wit  to  understand 

A  woman's  vanity,  you  know 

Why  they  should  wish  to  have  it  so). 

Those  same  long  fingers  smooth  and  round. 

Faultless  as  petals,  and  not  found 

Twice  in  a  generation.    Well, 

They're  Jacynth's.   But  you  need  not  tell 

The  trick.   In  this  world  art  must  live 

On  what  the  world's  caprice  will  give. 


ACROSS      THE      COURTYARD 

Delightful  folly!     But  far  more 
Delightful  beauty  we  adore 
And  follow  humbly  day  by  day, 
Her  difficult,  enchanted  way. 
(Dear  beauty,  still  beyond  the  reach 
Of  paint,  or  music,  or  of  speech!) 
We  toil  and  triumph  and  despair. 
Then  on  a  morn  look  up,  and  there 
Some  girl  goes  by,  or  there's  a  dash 
Of  colour  on  the  clouds  —  a  flash 
Of  inspiration  caught  between 
Chinks  in  the  workshop's  grey  routine. 
One  hint  of  glory  through  the  murk. 
And  God  has  criticized  our  work. 

So  we  plod  on,  and  so  one  day 
It  happened  toward  the  end  of  May, 
When  the  long  twilight  comes,  and  when 
Our  northern  orchards  bloom  again  — 
Even  our  poor  old  courtyard  tree, 


ACROSS      THE      COURTYARD 

Knowing  the  time  that  bids  him  be 

One  of  the  hosts  that  leaf  and  sing 

In  the  revival  of  the  spring, 

Dons  his  green  robe  of  joy.    You  know 

How  idle,  then,  a  man  will  grow. 

I  had  been  sitting  lost  in  thought 

Of  how  our  best  dreams  come  to  naught, 

And  we  are  left  mere  daubers  still 

For  want  of  knowledge,  lack  of  skill  — 

So  many  of  us  are,  I  mean ! 

The  door  was  open,  and  the  screen 

And  curtains  turned  back  everywhere 

For  the  first  breath  of  summer  air, 

That  came  in  like  a  wanderer 

From  far  untroubled  lands,  to  stir 

The  prints  along  the  wall,  and  bring 

Our  dreams  of  greatness  back  with  spring 

Suddenly,  I  looked  up,  aware 
Before  I  looked,  of  some  one  there  — 
23 


ACROSS      THE      COURTYARD 

You  know  how.    In  the  doorway  stood 
A  tall  girl  dressed  in  black.    How  good 
A  scrap  of  actual  beauty  is, 
After  our  unrealities! 
The  copper-coloured  hair;   the  glint 
Of  tea-rose  in  her  throat's  warm  tint; 
The  magic  and  surprise  that  go 
With  level  blue-grey  eyes;    the  slow 
Luxurious  charm  of  poise  and  line, 
Half-Oriental,  half-divine, 
And  altogether  human.     Oh, 
One  must  have  known  her  then,  to  know 
How  faultless  beauty  still  transcends 
The  bound  where  faultless  painting  ends. 
But  you  may  gather  here  and  there 
Faint  glimpses  and  reports  of  her 
In  the  best  work  of  all  the  men 
Who  painted  her  as  she  was  then, 
Splendid  and  wonderful.    To  me, 
For  colour  and  for  symmetry, 
24 


ACROSS      THE      COURTYARD 

In  her  young  glory  there  she  seemed 
The  flame-like  one  of  whom  they  dreamed 
Who  worshipped  beauty  in  old  days 
With  singleness  of  joy  and  praise; 
Some  great  Astarte  come  to  bless 
This  old  world  with  new  loveliness; 
My  own  ideal  come  to  life, 
After  the  failure  and  the  strife, 
To  prove  I  dreamed  not  all  in  vain 
In  poverty  beside  the  Seine. 

There  came  a  sudden  leap  at  heart 
That  made  my  pulses  stop  and  start, 
The  surge  and  flood  of  sense  that  sweep 
Over  our  nature's  hidden  deep, 
When  we  look  up  and  recognize 
Our  vision  in  an  earthly  guise. 
Then  reason  must  resign  control 
To  the  indubitable  soul, 


25 


ACROSS      THE      COURTYARD 

Put  off  despair,  arise  and  dance 
To  the  joy-music  of  romance. 

For  one  great  year  she  posed  for  me; 
Came  in  and  out  familiarly, 
And  made  the  studio  her  home 
Almost  —  not  quite ;   for  always  some  — 
What  shall  I  say  ?  —  reserve  or  pride, 
Mysterious  and  aloof,  belied 
By  the  soft  loving  languorous  mien, 
Invested  her,  enthroned  serene 
Above  importunings.    Who  knows. 
If  she  had  chosen  as  I  chose  — 
Flung  heart  and  head  and  hand  away 
On  the  great  venture  of  a  day; 
Poured  love  and  passion  and  romance 
In  the  frail  mould  of  circumstance  — 
Had  she  but  dared  be  one  of  two, 
We  might  have  made  the  world  anew! 
However  much  it  might  have  cost, 
26 


ACROSS      THE      COURTYARD 

Who  knows  what  good  may  have  been  lost, 
What  passing  great  reward  ? 

One  day 

When  work  was  done  she  turned  to  say 

Her  soft  good  night,  and  tripped  down-stair 

With  rustling  skirts  and  her  fine  air 

Of  breeziness,  humming  a  catch 

From  some  street-song.    I  heard  the  latch 

Click  after  her,  and  she  was  gone. 

Next  day  I  waited.     It  wore  on 

To  afternoon,  and  still  no  sign 

Of  peril  near  this  dream  of  mine. 

A  year  went  by,  and  not  a  word 

Of  the  lost  Jacynth  could  be  heard. 

May  came  again ;   the  wind  once  more 
Was  blowing  by  the  open  door, 
And  I  saw  something  over  there 
Across  the  yard  that  made  me  stare. 
27 


ACROSS      THE      COURTYARD 

Strangers  had  recently  arrived 
On  that  third  floor,  and  Fate  contrived 
One  of  her  small  dramatic  scenes 
Which  make  us  wonder  what  life  means, 
And  whether  it  is  all  a  play 
For  our  diversion  by  the  way. 
There  at  the  window  I  caught  sight 
Of  a  girl's  figure.    The  crisp  white 
Of  the  fresh  gown  passed  and  repassed, 
Strangely  familiar,  till  at  last, 
Jacynth,  of  course!    Who  else?  "  I  cried. 
And  on  the  instant  she  espied 
Me  watching  her;  quick  as  a  flash 
And  smiling,  ran,  threw  up  the  sash 
To  lean  far  out.     "  How  do  you  do, 
My  friend  ?  "    "  WTiy,  Jacynth,  how  are  you. 
After  this  long,  long  time?  "  I  said. 
Thank  you,  quite  well."    Her  pretty  head 
Was  tilted  up,  in  every  line 
An  old  medallion  rare  and  fine. 
28 


ACROSS      THE      COURTYARD 

"  Yes,  it's  a  long  time,  isn't  it, 
Since  that  first  day  I  came  to  sit 
For  your  great  Lilith?     Tell  me  how 
They  hung  it  at  the  Fair.    And  now 
That  we  are  neighbours  once  again, 
Do  come  to  see  me."     It  was  plain 
From  the  unwonted  vanity 
Of  tone,  as  she  ran  on  to  me. 
Some  strange  ambition,  plan,  or  hope 
Had  come  to  give  her  pride  new  scope. 
Somehow  she  had  acquired  the  chill 
Of  worldliness ;    I  missed  the  thrill 
Of  eager  radiance  she  had 
When  we  were  comrades  free  and  glad. 
Some  volatile  and  subtle  trace 
Of  soul  had  vanished  from  her  face. 
Leaving  the  brilliancy  that  springs 
From  polished  and  enamelled  things. 
The  beauty  of  the  lamp  still  shone 
With  lustre,  but  the  flame  was  gone. 
29 


ACROSS      THE      COURTYARD 

There  was  so  evident  in  her 
The  smug  complacent  character 
Of  prosperous  security, 
That  when,  with  just  a  flick  at  me, 
She  added,  gaily  as  before, 
"  It  isn't  Jacynth  any  more, 
It's  Mrs.  "  —  some  one  —  here  was  I, 
Too  much  astonished  to  reply. 
Before  she  vanished.    From  that  day 
The  rest  is  blank,  think  what  _vou  may. 
There  is  her  window,  as  you  see, 
Closed  on  a  teasing  mystery. 

I  think,  as  I  recall  her  here. 
How  much  life  means  beyond  the  mere 
Safety,  convenience,  and  the  pose 
Respectability  bestows ; 
The  beauty  of  the  questing  soul 
In  every  face,  beyond  control 
Is  dimmed  by  wearing  any  mask 
30 


ACROSS       THE      COURTYARD 

That  dull  conformity  may  ask. 
How  almost  no  one  understands 
The  unworldliness  that  art  demands! 
How  few  have  courage  to  retain 
Through  j^ears  of  doubtful  stress  and  strain 
The  resolute  and  lonely  will 
To  follow  beauty,  to  fulfil 
The  dreams  of  their  prophetic  youth 
And  pay  the  utmost  price  of  truth! 
How  few  have  nerve  enough  to  keep 
The  trail,  and  thread  the  dark  and  steep 
By  the  lone  lightning-flash  that  falls 
Through  sullen  m.urky  intervals! 
How  many  faint  of  heart  must  choose 
The  steady  lantern  for  their  use, 
And  never,  without  fear  of  Fate, 
Be  daring,  generous  and  great! 

Where  is  she  now?  What  sudden  change 
Clouded  our  day-dream?     Love  is  strange! 
31 


A     NEIGHBOUR'S     CREED. 

^''  Nor  knowest  thou  what  argument 
Thy  life  to  thy  tieighbours  creed  has  lent." 

I. 

All  day  the  weary  crowds  move  on 
Through  the  grey  city's  stifling  heat, 
With  anxious  air,  with  jaded  mien, 
To  strife,  to  labour,  to  defeat. 

But  I  possess  my  soul  in  calm. 
Because  I  know,  unvexed  by  noise, 
Somewhere  across  the  city's  hum 
Your  splendid  spirit  keeps  its  poise. 
32 


A      NEIGHBOUR     S      CREED 
II. 

Because  I  see  you  bright  and  brave, 
I  say  to  my  despondent  heart, 
"Up,  loiterer!     Put  off  this  guise 
Of  gloom,  and  play  the  sturdier  part !  " 

Three  things  are  given  man  to  do: 
To  dare,  to  labour,  and  to  grow. 
Not  otherwise  from  earth  we  came, 
Nor  otherwise  our  way  we  go. 

Three  things  are  given  man  to  be: 
Cheerful,  undoubting,  and  humane. 
Surviving  through  the  direst  fray. 
Preserving   the  untarnished   strain. 

Three  things  are  given  man  to  know: 
Beauty  and  truth  and  honour.     These 
Are  the  nine  virtues  of  the  soul. 
Her  mystic  powers  and  ecstasies. 
33 


A       NEIGHBOUR     S       CREED 

And  when  I  see  you  bravely  tread 
That  difficult  and  doubtful  way, 
Up,  waverer;    wilt  thou  forsake 
Thy  comrade?  "  to  my  soul  I  say. 

Then  bitterness  and  sullen  fear. 
Mistrust  and  anger,   are  no  more. 
That  quick  gay  step  is  in  the  hall; 
That  rallying  voice  is  at  the  door. 


34 


TO    ONE    IN    DESPAIR. 

I. 

O  die  not  yet,  great  heart ;   but  deign 
A  little  longer  to  endure 
This  life  of  passionate  fret  and  strain, 
Of  slender  hope  and  joy  unsure! 

Take  Contemplation  by  the  sleeve, 
And  ask  her,  "  Is  it  not  worth  while 
To  teach  my  fellows  not  to  grieve,  — 
To  lend  them  courage  in  a  smile? 

"  Is  it  so  little  to  have  made 
The  timorous  ashamed  of  fear,  — 
The  idle  and  the  false  afraid 
To  front  existence  with  a  sneer?  " 
35 


TO      ONE       IN       DESPAIR 

For  those  who  live  within  your  sway 
Know  not  a  mortal  fear,  save  one,  — 
That  some  irreparable  day 
They  should  awake,  and  find  you  gone. 

II. 
Live  on,  love  on!     Let  reason  swerve; 
But  instinct  knows  her  own  great  lore, 
Like  some  uncharted  planet's  curve 
That  sweeps  in  sight,  then  is  no  more. 

Live  on,  love  on,  without  a  qualm. 
Child  of  immortal  charity. 
In  the  great  certitude  and  calm 
Of  joy  free-born  that  shall  not  die. 

III. 

We  dream  ourselves  inheritors 
Of  some  unknown  and  distant  good, 
36 


TO      ONE      IN       DESPAIR 

That  shall  requite  us  for  the  faults 
Of  our  own  lax  ineptitude. 

But  soon  and  surely  they  may  come, 
Whom  love  makes  wise  and  courage  free, 
Into  their  heritage  of  joy,  — 
Their  earth-day  of  eternity. 

IV. 

The  thought  that  I  could  ever  call 
Your  name,  and  you  would  not  be  here, 
At  moments  sweeps  my  soul  away 
In  the  relentless  tide  of  fear; 

Then  from  its  awful  ebb  returns 
The  sea  of  gladness  strong  and  sure. 
By  this  I  know  that  love  is  great ; 
By  this  I  know  I  shall  endure. 


37 


TO       ONE      IN       DESPAIR 
V. 

When  I  shall  have  lain  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  no  sound  to  break  my  rest. 
No  seraph's  trumpet  through  the  night 
Could  touch  my  weary  soul  with  zest. 

But  oh,  beyond  the  reach  of  thought 
How  I  should  waken  and  rejoice. 
To  hear  across  the  drift  of  time 
One  golden  echo  of  j'our  voice! 


38 


AT    THE    GREAT    RELEASE. 

When  the  black  horses  from  the  house  of  Dis 
Stop  at  my  door  and  the  dread  charioteer 
Knocks  at  my  portal,  summoning  me  to  go 
On  the  far  solitary  unknown  way 
Where  all  the  race  of  men  fare  and  are  lost, 
Fleeting  and  numerous  as  the  autumnal  leaves 
Before  the  wind  in  Lesbos  of  the  Isles; 

Though  a  chill  draught  of  fear  may  quell  my  soul 
And  dim  my  spirit  like  a  flickering  lamp 
In  the  great  gusty  hall  of  some  old  king. 
Only  one  mordant  unassuaged  regret. 
One  passionate  eternal  human  grief, 
39 


AT      THE      GREAT      RELEASE 

Would  wring  my  heart  with  bitterness  and  tears 
And  set  the  mask  of  sorrow  on  my  face. 

Not  youth,  nor  early  fame,  nor  pleasant  days, 

Nor  flutes,  nor  roses,  nor  the  taste  of  wine. 

Nor  sweet  companions  of  the  idle  hour 

Who  brought  me  tender  joys,  nor  the  glad  sound 

Of  children's  voices  playing  in  the  dusk; 

All  these  I  could  forget  and  bid  good-bye 

And  pass  to  my  oblivion  nor  repine. 

Not  the  green  woods  that  I  so  dearly  love, 
Nor  summer  hills  in  their  serenity. 
Nor  the  great  sea  mystic  and  musical, 
Nor  drone  of  insects,  nor  the  call  of  birds. 
Nor  soft  spring  flowers,  nor  the  wintry  stars; 
To  all  the  lovely  earth  that  was  my  home 
Smiling  and  valiant  I  could  say  farewell. 


40 


AT      THE      GREAT      RELEASE 

But  not,  oh,  not  to  one  strong  little  hand, 

To  one  droll  mouth  brimming  with  witty  words, 

Nor  ever  to  the  unevasive  eyes 

Where  dwell  the  light  and  sweetness  of  the  world 

With  all  the  sapphire  sparkle  of  the  sea! 

Ah,  Destiny,  against  whose  knees  we  kneel 

With  prayer  at  evening,  spare  me  this  one  woe! 


41 


MORNING    AND    EVENING. 

When  the  morning  wind  comes  up  the  mountain, 
Stirring  all  the  beech-groves  of  the  valley, 
And,  before  the  paling  stars  have  vanished, 
The  first  tawny  thrush  disturbs  the  twilight 
With  his  reed-pipe,  eerie  calm  and  golden  — 
The  earth-music  marvellous  and  olden  — 

Then  good  fortune  enters  at  my  doorway. 

And  my  heart  receives  the  guest  called  Gladness; 

For  I  know  it  is  that  day  of  summer 

When  I  shall  behold  your  face  ere  nightfall, 

And  this  earth,  as  never  yet  in  story. 

Ledge  to  hill-crest  dyed  in  purple  glory. 


42 


MORNING      AND       EVENING 

When  the  evening  breath  draws  down  the  valley, 
And  the  clove  is  full  of  dark  blue  shadows 
Moving  on  the  mountain-wall,  just  silvered 
By  the  large  moon  lifted  o'er  the  earth-rim. 
At  the  moment  of  transported  being, 
When  soul  gathers  what  the  eyes  are  seeing. 

Sense  is  parted  like  a  melted  rain-mist, 
And  our  mortal  spirits  run  together. 
Saying,  "  O  incomparable  comrade!  " 
Saying,  "  O  my  lover,  how  good  love  is!  " 
Then  the  twilight  falls;    the  hill-wind  hushes; 
Note  by  note  once  more  the  cool-voiced  thrushes. 


43 


IN    AN    IRIS    MEADOW. 

Once  I  found  you  in  an  iris  meadow 

Down  between  the  seashore  and  the  river, 

Playing  on  a  golden  willow  whistle 

You  had  fashioned  from  a  bough  in  springtime,  — 

Piping  such  a  wild  melodious  music, 

Full  of  sunshine,  sadness  and  sweet  longing. 

As  the  heart  of  earth  must  have  invented. 

When  the  wind  first  breathed  above  her  bosom. 

And  above  the  sea-rim,  silver-lighted. 

Pure  and  glad  and  innocent  and  tender. 

The  first  melting  planets  glowed  in  splendour. 

There  it  was  I  loved  you  as  a  lover. 
Then  it  was  I  lost  the  world  forever. 
44 


IN      AN      IRIS      MEADOW 

For  your  slender  fingers  on  the  notches 
Set  free  more  than  that  mere  earthly  cadence, — 
Loosed  the  piercing  stops  of  mortal  passion,  — 
Touched    your    wood-mate    with    the    spell    of 

wonder, 
And  the  godhead  in  the  man  awakened. 
Virgin  spirit  with  unsullied  senses. 
There  was  earth  for  him  all  new-created, 
In  a  moment  when  the  music's  rapture 
Bade  soul  take  what  never  thought.could  capture: 

Just  the  sheer  glad  bliss  of  being  human, 
Just  the  large  content  beyond  all  reason, 
Just  the  love  of  flowers,  hills  and  rivers, 
Shadowy  forests  and  lone  lovely  bird-songs 
When  the  morning  brightens  in  the  sea-wind; 
And  beyond  all  these  the  fleeting  vision 
Of  the  shining  soul  that  dwelt  within  you, 
(Magic  fragrance  of  the  meadow  blossom) 
All  the  dear  fond  madness  of  the  lover. 
45 


IN      AN      IRIS       MEADOW 

These,  all  these  the  ancient  wood-god  taught  me 
From  the  theme  you  piped  and  the  wind  brought 
me. 

Was  it  strange  that  I  should  stop  the  playing? 

Was  it  strange  that  I  should  touch  the  blossom? 

Must  ( a  man's  w^ay ! )  see  whence  came  the  music, 

Must  with  childish  marvel  count  the  petals? 

O  but  sweet  were  your  uncounted  kisses ! 

Wild  and  dear  those  first  impulsive  fondlings, 

When  3'our  great  eyes  swept  me,  then  went  sea- 
ward, 

Too  o'ercharged  to  bear  the  strain  of  yearning, 

And  the  little  head  must  seek  this  shoulder! 

Then  we  heard  once  more  the  wood-god's  meas- 
ure. 

And  strange  gladness  filled  the  world's  great 
leisure. 


46 


A    LETTER    FROM    LESBOS. 

More  beloved  than  ever  yet  was  mortal ! 
Oh,  but  doubt  not,  lover,  I  do  love  thee! 
When  he  wrote  these  words,  bitter  and  lonely 
Was  that  tender  heart  in  wintry  Lesbos. 
Kindly  gods  but  speed  my  journey  thither, 
(How  the  wind  burns  from  the  scorching  desert, 
Through  the  scarlet  beds  of  scentless  blossom!) 
And  make  fortunate  that  swift  home-coming! 
For  I  fret  in  this  Egj'ptian  exile, 
Too  long  parted,  sickening  for  the  home-wind 
And  the  first  white  gleam  of  Mitylene. 

Blessed  words  to  brave  the  stormy  sea-way! 
In  this  stifling  city's  sultry  languor 
47 


A      LETTER       FROM       LESBOS 

I  must  now  with  joy  and  tears  and  longing, 
Now  the  hundredth  time  at  least  re-read  them : 

//  is  the  bitter  season  of  the  year; 
The  mournful-piping  sea-wind  is  abroad 
With  driving  snow  and  battle  in  the  air. 
Shaking  the  stubborn  roof  tree  gust  by  gust; 
And  under  the  frost-grey  skies  without  a  sun 
Cold  desolation  wraps  the  wintry  world. 

And  I,  my  Gorgo,  keep  the  fireside  here. 
Chill-hearted,  brooding,  visited  by  doubt. 
Wondering  how  Demeter  or  wise  Pan 
Will  work  the  resurrection  of  the  spring. 
Serene  and  punctual  at  the  appointed  time, 
With  the  warm  sun,  the  swallows  at  the  eaves. 
The  slant  of  rain  upon  the  purple  hill. 
The  flame-like  crocus  by  the  garden  wall. 
The  light,  the  hope,  the  gladness  all  returned 
With  maidens  singing  the  Adonis  song! 
48 


A      LETTER       FROM       LESBOS 

But  ah,  more  doubtful  sad  and  full  of  fear 
There  comes  to  me,  disconsolate  and  lone. 
The  thought  of  thee,  my  Gorgo,  lovelier 
Than  any  premonition  of  the  spring. 

I  seem  to  see  that  radiant  smile  once  more. 
The  heaven-blue  eyes,  the  crocus-golden  hair. 
The  rose-pink  beauty  passionate  and  tall. 
Dear  beyond  words  and  daring  with  desire. 
For  which  thy  lover  luould  fling  life  away 
And  traffic  the  last  legacy  of  time. 

Ah,  Gorgo,  too  long  absent,  well  I  know 
The  sun  will  shine  again  and  spring  cofne  back 
Her  ancient  glorious  golden-flowered  way. 
And  gladness  visit  the  green  earth  once  more. 
But  where  in  all  that  wonder  wilt  thou  be. 
The  very  soul  and  spirit  of  the  spring^ 


49 


A      LETTER      FROM      LESBOS 

//  the  high  gods  in  that  triu?nphant  time 
Have  calendared  no  day  for  thee  to  come 
Light-hearted  to  this  doorway  as  of  old. 
Unmoved  I  shall  behold  their  pomps  go  by, — 
The  painted  seasons  in  their  pageantry. 
The  silvery  processions  of  the  moon. 
And  all  the  infinite  ardours  unsubdued. 
Pass  with  the  wind  replenishing  the  earth. 

Incredulous  forever  I  must  live. 
And,  once  thy  lover,  ivithout  joy  behold 
The  gradual  uncounted  years  go  by. 
Sharing  the  bitterness  of  all  things  made. 

Ah,  not  thus !     My  hot  tears  sweet  and  tender, 
And  the  storm  within  this  heaving  bosom, 
Could  he  see,  would  tell  him  what  the  truth  is,  - 
How  the  heart  of  Gorgo  breaks  to  reach  him, 
And  her  arms  are  weak  with  empty  waiting 
Through  this  long  monotony  of  summer. 
50 


A       LETTER       FROM       LESBOS 

Gentle  spirit,  grieve  not  so,  for  love's  sake! 
How  he  raves  beyond  the  touch  of  reason : 

O  heart  of  minej  be  hardier  for  ills. 

Since  thou  hast  shared  the  sorrows  of  the  gods 

And  been  partaker  of  their  destiny. 

Have  I  not  known  the  bitterness  that  sighed 

In  mournful  grief  upon  the  river  marge. 

And  once  obscured  the  lonely  shining  sun. 

When  Syrinx  and  when  Daphne  fled  awayf 

Not  otherivise  in  sorrow  did  I  fare 

Whom  Gorgo,  loveliest  of  mortals,  loved. 

And  whose  own  folly  that  same  Gorgo  lost. 

O  lovers,  hear  me!    Be  not  lax  in  love. 
Nor  let  the  loved  one  from  you  for  a  day. 
For  time  that  is  the  enemy  of  love. 
And  change  that  is  the  constant  foe  of  man, 
But  wait  the  turn  of  opportunity 
To  fret  the  delicate  fabric  of  our  life 
SI 


A       LETTER      FROM       LESBOS 

With  doubt  and  slow  forgetfulness  and  grief. 
Till  he  who  was  a  lover  once  goes  forth 
A  friendless  soul  to  front  the  joyless  years, 
A  brooding  uncompanioned  ivanderer 
Beneath  the  silent  and  fnajestic  stars. 

Now  what  folly  waits  on  brooding  passion! 

Truly  not  in  solitude  do  mortals 

Reach  the  height  and  nobleness  of  heroes. 

Can  it  be  so  swiftly  fades  remembrance? 

Oh,  my  fond  heart  prompt  him!     This  is  better: 

The  red  flower  of  the  fire  is  on  the  hearth. 
The  white  flower  of  the  foam  is  on  the  sea. 
The  golden  marshes  and  the  taivny  dunes 
Are  gleaming  white  with  snow  and  flushed  with 

rose 
Where  the  pure  level  wintry  sunlight  falls. 
In  the  rose-garden,  crimsoning  each  bough 
Against  the  purple  boulders  in  the  wall, 
52 


A       LETTER       FROM       LESBOS 

Shine  the  rose-berries  careless  of  the  cold. 
While  down  along  the  margin  of  the  sea. 
Just  where  the  grey  beach  melts  to  greener  grey. 
With    mounting  wavering   combing  plunge   and 

charge. 
The  towering  breakers  crumble  in  to  shore. 

Now  from  that  quiet  picture  of  the  eye. 
Hark  to  the  trampling  thunder  and  long  boom, 
The  lone  unscansioned  and  mysterious  rote 
Whose  cadence  marked  the  building  of  the  world. 
The  old  reverberant  music  of  the  sea! 

Ah,  to  what  ghostly  piping  of  strange  flutes 
Strays  in  lost  loveliness  Persephone, 
Heavy  at  heart,  with  trouble  in  her  eyes. 
From  her  deep-bosomed  rnother  far  away. 
In  the  pale  garden  of  Aidoneus  now? 
And  oh,  what  delicate  piping  holds  thee,  too. 
My  Kore  of  the  beauteous  golden  head? 


A       LETTER       FROM       LESBOS 

What  voice,  what  luring  laughter  bid  thee  stay 
So  long  from  thine  own  lover  and  so  farf 
IVho  touches  ivith  soft  ivords  thy  tender  heart. 
In  some  bright  foreign  city  far  from  here. 
My  unforgotten  Gorgo  beautiful? 

Doubting  still?    O  bitterest  of  absence 
That  the  moth  of  doubt  should  mar  the  texture 
And  fine  tissue  of  the  spirit's  garment, 
The  one  garb  of  beauty  which  the  soul  wears,  - 
Love,  the  frailest,  costliest  of  fabrics! 
Ah,  doubt  not!     O  lover,  lover,  lover. 
Who  first  taught  the  childlike  heart  of  mortals 
This  most  false  and  evil  worldly  wisdom? 
Blighting  as  a  frost  on  budded  aloes. 
How  it  blackens  love,  the  golden  blossom! 
Would  that  I  could  cherish  him  this  instant, 
And  dissolve  that  aching  wintry  passion 
In  the  warmth  of  this  impatient  bosom! 
By  what  cruel  fate  must  I  be  banished 
54 


A       LETTER       FROM       LESBOS 

From  his  lonely  bed?     In  lovely  Lesbos 
All  my  heart  is,  with  its  passionate  longing. 
O  too  piteous  is  the  lot  of  women : 

In  the  long  night  I  lie  awake  for  hours 
Or  sleep  the  sleep  of  dreamers  ivithout  rest. 
For  in  my  soul  there  is  discouragement. 
And  cold  remorse  lays  hands  upon  my  heart. 
Now  thou  art  gone,  the  grey  world  has  no  joy. 
But  bleak  and  bitter  is  the  wind  of  life. 
Cutting  this  timid  traveller  to  the  bone. 

Not  all  the  gods  can  ever  give  me  peace. 
Nor  their  forgiveness  make  me  glad  again. 
For  I  have  sinned  against  my  own  great  soul 
And  cherished  far  too  little  thy  great  love. 
Brave  was  thy  spirit,  glad  and  beautiful. 
Nor  ever  faltered  nor  was  faint  of  heart 
In  the  fair  splendid  path  of  thy  desire. 
Even  as  I  speak  there  comes  a  touch  of  shame, 
55 


A      LETTER      FROM      LESBOS 

Like  a  friend's  hand  upon  my  shoulder  laidj 
To  think  such  moody  and  unmanly  words 
Could  ever  pass  the  mouth  thy  mouth  has  pressed. 

Remembrance  ivakes.     I  hear  the  long  far  call 
To  fortitude  and  courage  in  the  night 
From  my  companions  of  the  mighty  past, 
All  the  heroic  lovers  of  the  world. 

Hast  thou  not  had  a  sudden  thought  of  me, 

\] nanxious ,  gay  and  tender  tvith  desire, 

O  thou  beloved  more  than  all  mortal  things? 

For  in  my  heart  there  was  a  sudden  sense 

Just  now  zvith  presage  of  returning  joy. 

As  when  the  wood-flowers  ivaken  to  the  sun 

And  all  their  lovely  ardours  rearise. 

Or  when  the  sinking  tide  from   utmost  ebb 

With  one  long  sob  sum?nons  his  might  once  more. 


56 


A       LETTER       FROM       LESBOS 

Out  of  this  winter  will  put  forth   one  day 

The  incommunicable  germ  of  spring. 

The  magic  fervour  that  makes  all  things  new. 

When  all  the  golden  season  will  be  glad 

With  soft  south  winds  and  birds  and  woodland 

flowers 
And  the  shrill  marshy  music  of  the  frogs. 
Piping  a  chorus  to  their  father  Pan. 
Then  thou  and  I  shall  walk  the  earth  once  more 
Delirious  with  each  other  as  of  old. 
And  the  soft  ??iadness  lead  us  far  away 
By  meadowy  roads  and  through  the  lilac  hills 
To  our  own  province  in  the  lands  of  love,  — 
My  new-found  Gorgo,  heart-throb  of  the  spring. 

Heart  of  me!    Ah,  Cyprian  deal  gently! 
Soon,  Oh  soon,  restore  me  to  my  lover, 
That  I  may  repair  this  outworn  habit. 
And  reclothe  him  with  thy  golden  glory, 
Scarlet  circumstance  and  purple  splendour,  — 
57 


A       LETTER       FROM       LESBOS 

State  and  air  and  pride  of  the  immortals, 
Which  these  mortal  men,  by  our  devising 
And  thy  favour,  wear  —  with  fleeting  rapture ! 
Fiercer  blow,  thou  fervour  of  the  desert! 
Northward,  northward,  you  hot  winds  of  Nilus, 
More  consuming  than  a  smelter's  furnace! 
You  who  do  the  will  of  alien  I  sis. 
To  this  heart  you  cannot  be  unfriendly, 
If  I  once  may  loose  the  sail  for  Lesbos, 
And  along  the  green  and  foaming  sea-track 
Scud  before  you,  light  as  any  swallow 
Flashing  down  the  long  blue  slope  of  springtime. 
O  ye  home-gods,  free  me  to  my  lover! 


THE    PLAYERS. 

We  are  the  players  of  a  play 

As  old  as  earth, 

Between  the  wings  of  night  and  day, 

With  tears  and  mirth. 

There  is  no  record  of  the  land 
From  whence  it  came. 
No  legend  of  the  plaj^wright's  hand, 
No   bruited   fame 

Of  those  who  for  the  piece  were  cast 
On  that  first  night, 
When  God  drew  up  His  curtain  vast 
And  there  was  light. 
59 


THE       PLAYERS 


Before  our  eyes  as  we  come  on, 
From  age  to  age, 

Flare  up  the  footlights  of  the  dawn 
On  this  round  stage. 

In  front,  unknown,  beyond  the  glare 
Vague  shadows  loom; 
And  sounds  like  muttering  winds  are  there 
Foreboding  doom. 

Yet  wistfully  we  keep  the  boards; 
And  as  we  mend 
The  blundering  forgotten  words, 
Hope  to  the  end 

To  hear  the  storm-beat  of  applause 
Fill  our  desire 

When  the  dark  Prompter  gives  us  pause, 
And  we  retire. 


60 


THE    MANSION. 

I  thought  it  chill  and  lonesome, 
And  too  far  from  the  road 
For  an  ideal  dwelling, 
When  here  I  first  abode. 

But  yesterday  a  lodger 
Smiled  as  she  passed  my  door, 
With  mien  of  gay  contentment 
That  lured  me  to  explore. 

Unerringly  she  leads  me, 
Compassionate  and  wise, 
Soul  of  immortal  beauty 
Wearing  the  mortal  guise. 
6i 


THE       MANSION 


She  knows  from  sill  to  attic 

The  great  house  through  and  through, 

Its  treasures  of  the  ages, 

Surprises  ever  new. 

From  room  to  room  I  follow, 
Entranced  with  each  in  turn, 
Enchanted  by  each  wonder 
She  bids  my  look  discern. 

She  names  them:   here  is  First-love, 
A  chamber  by  the  sea ; 
Here  in  a  flood  of  noonday 
Is  spacious  Charity. 

Here  is  a  cell.  Devotion ; 
And  lonely  Courage  here, 
Where  child-deserted  windows 
Look  on  the  Northern  year; 


62 


THE       MANSION 


Friendship  and  Faith  and  Gladness, 
Fragrant  of  air  and  bloom, 
Where  one  might  spend  a  lifetime 
Secure  from  fear  of  gloom. 

And  often  as  we  wander, 
I  fancy  we  have  neared 
The  Master  of  the  Mansion, 
Who  has  not  yet  appeared. 


63 


WHO    IS    THE    OWNER? 

Who  owns  this  house,  my  lord  or  I? 
He  in  whose  name  the  title  runs, 
Or  I,  who  keep  it  swept  and  clean 
And  open  to  the  winds  and  suns? 

He  who  is  absent  year  by  year, 
On  some  far  pleasure  of  his  own, 
Or  I  who  spend  on  it  so  much 
Of  willing  flesh  and  aching  bone? 

What  if  it  prove  a  fable,  all 
This  rumour  of  a  legal  lord. 
And  we  should  find  ourselves  in  truth 
Owners  and  masters  of  the  board! 
64 


WHO       IS      THE      OWNER? 

What  if  this  earth  should  just  belong 
To  those  who  tend  it,  you  and  me ! 
What  if  for  once  we  should  refuse 
His  rental  to  this  absentee? 

O  friends,  no  landlord  in  the  world 
Could  love  the  place  as  well  as  I ! 
Love  is  the  owner  of  the  house, 
The  only  lord  of  destiny. 


65 


THE    FAIRY    FLOWER. 

There's  a  fairy  flower  that  grows 
In  a  corner  of  my  heart, 
And  the  fragrance  that  it  spills 
Is  the  sorcery  of  art. 

I  may  give  it  little  care, 
Neither  water  it  nor  prune, 
Yet  it  suddenly  will  blow 
Glorious  beneath  the  moon. 

I  may  tend  it  night  and  day, 
Taking  thought  to  make  it  bloom ; 
Yet  my  efforts  all  will  fail 
To  avert  the  touch  of  doom. 
66 


THE      FAIRY      FLOWER 


When  it  dies,  my  little  flower, 
You  may  take  my  life  as  well ; 
Though  I  live  a  hundred  years, 
I  shall  have  no  more  to  tell. 


67 


YVANHOE     FERRARA. 

Teach  me,  of  little  worth,  O  Fame, 
The  golden  word  that  shall  proclaim 
Yvanhoe  Ferrara's  name. 

I  would  that  I  might  rest  me  now, 
As  once  I  rested  long  ago, 

In  the  dim  purple  summer  night, 
On  scented  linen  cool  and  white, 

Lulled  by  the  murmur  of  the  sea 
And  thy  soft  breath,  Yvanhoe. 

What  cared  we  for  the  world  or  time, 
Though  like  a  far-off  fitful  chime, 
68 


YVANHOE       FERRARA 


We  heard  the  mournful  anchored  bell 
Above  the  sunken  reef  foretell 

That  time  should  pass  and  pleasure  be 
No  more  for  us,  Yvanhoe! 

We  saw  the  crimson  sun  go  down 
Across  the  harbour  and  the  town, 

Dyeing  the  roofs  and  spars  with  gold ; 
But  all  his  magic,  ages  old, 

Was  not  so  wonderful  to  me 
As  thy  gold  hair,  Yvanhoe. 

Between  the  window  and  the  road 
The  tall  red  poppies  burned  and  glowed ; 

They  moved  and  flickered  like  a  flame, 
As  the  low  sea-wind  went  and  came; 
69 


YVANHOE       FERRARA 


But  redder  and  more  warm  than  they, 
Was  thy  red  mouth,  Yvanhoe. 

I  think  the  stars  above  the  hill 
Upon  the  brink  of  time  stood  still; 

And  the  great  breath  of  life  that  blows 
The  coal-bright  sun,  the  flame-bright  rose. 

Entered  the  room  and  kindled  thee 
As  in  a  forge,  Yvanhoe  — 

Prospered  the  ruddy  fire,  and  fanned 
Thy  beauty  to  a  rosy  brand. 

Till  all  the  odorous  purple  dark 
Reeled,  and  thy  soul  became  a  spark 

In  the  great  draught  of  Destiny 
Which  men  call  love,  Yvanhoe. 
70 


YVANHOE      FERRARA 


The  untold  ardour  of  the  earth 

That  knows  no  sorrow,  fear  nor  dearth, 

Before  the  pent-up  moment  passed, 
Was  glad  of  all  its  will  at  last  — 

And  more,  if  such  a  thing  could  be  — 
In  thy  long  kiss,  Yvanhoe. 

For  years  my  life  was  bright  and  glad. 
Because  of  the  great  joy  we  had ; 

Until  I  heard  the  wind  repeat 
Thy  name  behind  me  in  the  street. 

Like  a  lost  lyric  of  the  sea, 
"  Yvanhoe,  Yvanhoe." 

But  now  the  day  has  no  desire; 
The  scarlet  poppies  have  no  fire ; 
71 


YVANHOE       FERRARA 


There  is  no  magic  in  the  sun 
Nor  anything  he  shines  upon; 

Only  the  muttering  of  the  sea, 
Since  thou  art  dead,  Yvanhoe. 

ISlow  God  on  high,  be  ?nine  the  blame, 
If  time  destroy  or  men  defame 
Yvanhoe  Ferrara's  name. 


72 


THE    LOVE-CHANT    OF    KING 
HACKO 

In  the  time  of  red  October, 
In  the  hills  of  the  pointed  fir, 
In  the  days  of  the  slanted  sunlight 
That  ripens  cone  and  burr, 
God  gave  me  a  splendid  woman  — 
A  mate  for  a  lord  of  lands  — 
And  put  the  madness  on  me. 
And  left  her  there  in  my  hands. 

In  the  roving  woodland  season, 
When  the  afternoons  are  still 
And  the  sound  of  lowing  cattle 
Comes  up  to  the  purple  hill, 
73 


LOVE-CHANT      OF      KING      HACKO 

God  would  speak  to  His  creatures, 
Flower  and  beast  and  bird, 
And  lays  the  silence  upon  them 
To  hearken  to  His  word. 

In  the  time  of  the  scarlet  maple, 
When  the  blue  Indian  haze 
Walks  through  the  wooded  valley 
And  sleeps  by  the  mountain  ways, 
She  stood  like  a  beech  in  the  forest, 
Where  the  wash  of  sunlight  lies, 
With  her  wonderful  beech-red  hair 
And  her  wondering  beech-grey  eyes. 

In  the  time  of  the  apple  harvest, 
When  the  fruit  is  gold  on  the  bough, 
She  stood  in  the  moted  sunshine. 
The  orchards  remember  how  — 
Loving,  untrammelled  and  generous. 
Ardent  and  supple  and  tall, 
74 


LOVE-CHANT      OF      KING      HACKO 

Quick  to  the  breath  of  the  spirit 
As  a  shadow  that  moves  on  a  wall. 

In  a  yellow  and  crimson  valley, 
At  the  time  of  the  turning  leaf, 
When  warm  are  the  tawny  fern-beds, 
And  the  cricket's  life  is  brief, 
I  saw  the  dark  blood  mantle 
And  prosper  under  the  tan, 
Then  I  knew  the  power  God  lent  me 
To  use,  when  He  made  me  man. 

The  world,  all  being  and  beauty 
From  meadow  to  mountain-line, 
Awaiting  the  touch  of  rapture 
For  a  meaning  and  a  sign ; 
A  woman's  voice  said,  "  Hacko," 
Then  I  knew  and  could  understand 
How  love  is  a  greater  province 
Than  dominion  of  sea  or  land. 
75 


LOVE-CHANT      OF      KING      HACKO 

In  the  month  of  golden  hillsides, 
When  moons  are  frosty  white, 
And  the  returning  Hunter 
Looms  on  the  marge  of  night, 
Relieving  his  brother  Arcturus, 
Belted,  majestic  and  slow, 
To  patrol  the  Arctic  watch-fires 
And  sentry  the  lands  of  snow, 

A  core  of  fire  was  kindled 

On  a  hearthstone  wide  and  deep. 

Where  the  great  arms  of  the  mountains 

Put  Folly-of-mind  to  sleep; 

We  came  without  guide  or  knowledge, 

Silver,  array  or  store, 

Through  the  land  of  purple  twilight 

To  the  lodge  of  the  Open  Door. 


76 


THE    CREATION    OF    L  I  L  I  T  H. 

This  happened  in  the  Garden 
Ages  on  ages  since, 
When  noontide  made  a  pleasant  shade 
Of  ilex,  pear  and  quince. 

The  Gardener  sat  and  pondered 
Some  beauty  rarer  still 
Than  any  he  had  wrought  of  earth 
And  fashioned  to  his  will. 

"Now  who  will  be  her  body?" 
"  I,"  said  the  splendid  rose, 
"  Colour,  fire  and  fragrance, 
In  imperial  repose." 
77 


THE      CREATION      OF      LILITH 

"  Who  will  be  her  two  eyes?  " 
"  I,"  said  the  flag  of  blue, 
"  Sky  and  sea  all  shadowy 
Drench  me  wholly  through." 

"  Who  will  be  her  bright  mouth?  " 
"  I,"  the  carnation  said, 
"  With  my  old  Eastern  ardour 
And  my  Persian  red." 

"  Who  will  be,  among  you, 
The  glory  of  her  hair?  " 
His  glance  went  reaching  through  the  noon ; 
The  marigold  was  there. 

"  Who  will  be  her  laughter. 
Her  love-word  and  her  sigh?" 
Among  the  whispering  tree-tops 
A  breath  of  wind  said,  "  I." 


78 


THE      CREATION      OF      LILITH 

"  And  whence  will  come  her  spirit?  " 
Answer  there  was  none. 
The  Gardener  breathed  upon  her  mouth, 
And  lo,  there  had  been  done 

The  miracle  of  beauty 
Outmarvelling  the  flowers; 
While  the  great  blue  dial 
Recorded  the  slow  hours. 


79 


IN    A    FAR    COUNTRY. 

In  a  land  that  is  little  traversed, 
Beyond  the  news  of  the  town, 
There  lies  a  delectable  Kingdom 
Where  the  crimson  sun  goes  down, 

The  province  of  fruitlands  and  flowers 
And  colour  and  sea-sounds  and  love. 
If  you  were  queen  of  that  country, 
And  I  were  the  king  thereof, 

We  should  tread  upon  scarlet  poppies, 
And  be  glad  the  long  day  through. 
Where  the  bluest  skies  in  the  world 
Rest  upon  hills  of  blue. 
80 


IN      A       FAR      COUNTRY 


We  should  wander  the  slopes  of  the  mountains 
With  the  wind  and  the  nomad  bee, 
And  watch  the  white  sails  on  the  sea-rim 
Come  up  from  the  curving  sea. 

We  should  watch  from  the  sides  of  the  valleys 

The  caravans  of  the  rain, 

In  trappings  of  purple  and  silver. 

Go  by  on  the  far-off  plain. 

And  they  all  should  be  freighted  with  treasure, 
The  vision  that  gladdens  the  eye, 
The  beauty  that  betters  the  spirit 
To  sustain  it  by  and  by. 

We  should  hear  the  larks'  fine  field-notes 

Breaking  in  bubbly  swells, 

As  if  from  their  rocking  steeples 

The  lilies  were  ringing  their  bells; 


8i 


IN      A      FAR      COUNTRY 


We  should  hear  invisible  fingers 
Play  on  the  strings  of  the  pines 
The  broken  measure  whose  motive 
Only  a  lover  divines; 

The  music  of  Earth,  the  enchantress, 
The  cadence  that  dwells  in  the  heart 
Against  the  time  of  oblivion. 
To  bid  it  remember  and  start. 

And  nothing  should  make  us  unhappy, 
And  no  one  should  make  us  afraid. 
For  we  should  be  royal  lovers 
In  the  land  where  this  plot  is  laid. 

And  with  night  on  the  almond  orchards 
We  should  lie  where  warm  winds  creep, 
Under  the  starry  tent-cloth 
Hearing  the  footfall  of  Sleep. 


82 


SONG    O  F    THE    FOUR 
WORLDS. 

I. 

Is  it  northward,  little  friend? 

And  she  whispered,  "  What  is  there?  " 

There  are  people  who  are  loyal  to  the  glory  of 

their  past. 
Who  held  by  heart's  tradition,  and  will  hold  it 

to  the  last; 
Who  would  not  sell  in  shame 
The  honour  of  their  name. 
Though  the  world  were  in  the  balance  and   a 

sword  thereon  were  cast. 
83 


SONG      OF      THE       FOUR      WORLDS 

Oh,   there   the  ice   is   breaking,  the  brooks  are 

running  free, 
A  robin  calls  at  twilight  from  a  tall  spruce-tree, 
And  the  light  canoes  go  down 
Past  portage,  camp  and  town. 
By  the  rivers  that  make  murmur  in  the  lands 

along  the  sea. 

And  she  said,  "  It  is  not  there, 
Though  I  love  you,  love  you  dear; 
I  cannot  bind  my  little  heart  with  loves  of  yes- 
ter  year." 

II. 

Is  it  southward,  little  friend? 
"  Lover,  what  is  there?  " 

There  are  men  of  many  nations  who  were  sick 
of  strife  and  gain, 


84 


SONG      OF      THE       FOUR      WORLDS 

And  only  ask  forgetfulness  of  all  the  old  world's 

pain. 
There  Life  sets  down  her  measure 
For  Time  to  fill  at  leisure 
With  loveliness  and  plenty  in  the  islands  of  the 

main. 

Oh,  there  the  palms  are  rustling,  the  oranges  are 

bright; 
In  all  the  little  harbour  towns  the  coral  streets 

are  white ; 
The  scarlet  flowers  fall 
By  the  creamy  convent  wall, 
And   the   Southern   Cross   gets  up   from  sea  to 

steer  the  purple  night. 

And  she  said,  "  It  is  not  there, 
Though  I  love  you,  love  you  dear; 
I  should  weary  of  the  beauty  that  is  changeless 
all  the  year." 

85 


SONG      OF      THE       FOUR      WORLDS 
III. 

Is  it  eastward,  little  friend? 

And  she  whispered,  "  What  is  there?  " 

There    are    rivers    good    for    healing,    there    are 

temples  in  the  hills. 
There  men  forsake  desire  and  put  by  their  earthly 

wills ; 
And  there  the  old  earth  breeds 
Her  mystic  mighty  creeds 
For  the  lifting  of  all  burdens  and  the  loosing 

of  all  ills. 

Oh,  the  tents  are  in  the  valley  where  the  shadows 

sleep  at  noon. 
Where  the  pack-train  halts  at  twilight  and  the 

spicy  bales  are  strewn. 
Where  the  long  brown  road  goes  by 
To  the  cut  against  the  sky. 
And  is  lost  within  the  circle  of  the  silent,  rosy 

moon. 

86 


SONG      OF      THE       FOUR      WORLDS 

And  she  said,  "  It  is  not  there, 
Though  I  love  you,  love  you  dear ; 
For  my  faith  is  w^arm  and  living,  not  unearthly, 
old  and  sere." 

rv. 

Is  it  westward,  little  friend? 
"  Lover,  what  is  there?  " 

There  are  men  and  women  who  are  sovereigns 
of  their  fate, 

Who  look  Despair  between  the  eyes  and  know 
that  they  are  great; 

Who  will  not  halt  nor  quail 

On  the  eager  endless  trail, 

Till  Destiny  makes  way  for  them  and  Love  un- 
bars the  gate. 

Oh,  there  the  purple  lilies  are  blowing  in  the  sun. 
And  the  meadow  larks  are  singing  —  a  thousand, 
if  there's  one! 

87 


SONG       OF      THE       FOUR       WORLDS 

And  the  long  blue  hills  arise 
To  the  wondrous  dreamy  skies, 
For  the  twisted  azure  columns  of  the  rain  to  rest 
upon. 

And  she  said,  "  It  is  not  there, 
For  I  love  you,  love  you  dear. 
Oh,    shut   the   door    on    Sorrow,    for   the    Four 
Great  Worlds  are  here !  " 


88 


STREET    SONG    AT    NIGHT. 

There's   many   a   quiet   seaport    that    waits   the 

daring  sail ; 
There's  many  a  lonely  farer  by  many  a  doubtful 

trail 
And  what  should  be  their  star 
To  lead  them  safe  and  far,  — 
What  guide  to  take  them  o'er  the  crest,  what 

pilot  past  the  bar,  — 
Save  Love,   the  great  adventurer  who  will  not 

turn  nor  quail? 

As  a  voyager  might  remember  how  the  face  of 

earth  was  changed,  — 
All    the    dreary    grey   of   winter   forgotten    and 

estranged,  — 

89 


STREET      SONG      AT      NIGHT 

When  he  rode  the  tempest  through 

And  steered  into  the  blue 

Of  a  tranquil  tropic  morning  diaphanous  and 
new, 

With  palms  upon  the  sea-rim  where  the  flying- 
fishes  ranged; 

As  a  lover  in  old  story  on  a  night  of  wind  and 

rain 
Might  have  stood  beneath  a  window,  till  a  lamp 

should  light  the  pane 
And  a  lady  lean  one  arm 
On  the  glowing  square  and  warm,  — 
A  girlish  golden  figure  in  a  frame  of  dark  and 

storm,  — 
To  look  the  longest  moment  ere  he  turned  to 

life  again, 

Then  set  a  stubborn  shoulder  to  wind  and  sleet 
and  snow, 

90 


STREET       SONG      AT      NIGHT 

With  the  weather  foul  above  him  and  the  pave- 
ment foul  below; 

So  it  happened  in  my  case ; 

When  I  saw  her,  every  trace 

Of  doubt  and  fear  and  languor  to  the  pulse  of 
joy  gave  place, 

And  the  world  was  great  and  goodly  as  he 
planned  it  long  ago. 

There's  a  shipman  who  goes  sailing  where  the 

sea  is  round  and  high; 
There's  a  lover  who  goes  piping  where  winds  of 

morning  cry; 
And  the  lilt  beneath  his  heart 
Was  timed  to  stop  and  start, 
Till  no  more  ships  go  sailing  and  the  green  hills 

fall  apart. 
O,  friends,  that  minstrel-lover,  that  mariner  am  I. 


91 


THE    LEAST    OF    LOVE. 

Only  let  one  fair  frail  woman 
Mourn  for  me  when  I  am  dead,  — 
World,  withhold  your  best  of  praises! 
There  are  better  things  instead. 

Shall  the  little  fame  concern  me, 
Or  the  triumph  of  the  years. 
When  I  keep  the  mighty  silence, 
Through  the  falling  of  her  tears? 

I  shall  heed  not,  though  'twere  April 
And  my  field-larks  all  returned, 
When  her  lips  upon  these  eyelids 
One  last  poppied  kiss  have  burned. 
92 


THE      LEAST      OF      LOVE 

Painted  hills  shall  not  allure  me, 
Mirrored  in  the  painted  stream; 
Having  loved  them,  I  shall  leave  them, 
Busy  with  the  vaster  dream. 

Only  let  one  dear  dark  woman 
Mourn  for  me  when  I  am  dead, 
I  shall  be  content  with  beauty 
And  the  dust  above  my  head. 

Yet  when  I  shall  make  the  journey 
From  these  earthly  dear  abodes, 
I  have  four  things  to  remember 
At  the  Crossing  of  the  Roads. 

How  her  hand  was  like  a  tea-rose; 
And  her  low  voice  like  the  South; 
Her  soft  eyes  were  tarns  of  sable ; 
A  red  poppy  was  her  mouth. 


93 


THE       LEAST      OF      LOVE 

Only  let  one  sweet  frail  woman 
Mourn  for  me  when  I  am  dead,  — 
Gently  for  her  gentlest  lover,  — 
More  than  all  will  have  been  said. 

Be  my  requiem  the  rain-wind ; 
And  my  immortality 
But  the  lifetime  of  one  heartache 
By  the  unremembering  sea! 


94 


A    MAN'S    LAST    WORD. 

Death  said  to  me, 
"  Three  things  I  ask  of  thee ; 
And  thy  reply 
Shall  make  thee  or  undo   thee  presently." 

I  said,  "  Say  on, 

Lord  Death,  thy  will  be  done. 

One  answers  now. 

To  bribe  and  fear  indifferent  as  thou." 

He  said,  "  Behold, 
My  power  is  from  of  old. 
The  drunken  sea 

Is  but  a  henchman  and  a  serf  to  me. 
95 


A      MAN     S      LAST      WORD 

"  Hunger  and  war 
My  tireless  sleuth-hounds  are. 
Before  my  nod 
The  quailing  nations  have  no  help  but  God. 

"  What  hast  thou  found, 
In  one  life's  little  round, 
Stronger  than  these?" 
I  said,  "  One  little  hand-touch  of  Marie's." 

He  said,  "  Again: 

Of  all  brave  sights  to  men  — 

The  glittering  rain, 

A  towering  city  in  an  autumn  plain, 

"  An  eagle's  flight, 
A  beacon-fire  at  night. 
The  harvest  moon, 
The  burnish  of  a  marching  host  at  noon  - 


96 


A      MAN      S       LAST      WORD 

"  What  hast  thou  seen 
In  one  life's  small  demesne, 
Fairer  than  these?  " 
I  said,  "  That  supple  body  of  Marie's." 

He  said,  "  Once  more: 

Of  all  men  labour  for. 

Battle  and  yearn. 

And  spend  their  blessed  days  without  return 

"  Leisure  or  wealth. 
Or  power  or  sun-tanned  health, 
A  bruited  name, 
Or  the  sad  solace  of  a  little  fame  — 

"  What  hast  thou  known, 
In  one  life's  narrow  zone. 
Dearer  tharr  these?  " 
I  said,  "  One  little  love-kiss  of  Marie's." 


97 


MAN     S       LAST      WORD 


And  then  Death  said, 
"  To-day  among  the  dead 
Thou  shalt  go  down, 
And  with  the  wise  receive  thy  just  renown. 


98 


A    MIDWINTER    MEMORY. 

Now  the  snow  is  on  the  roof, 
Now  the  wind  is  in  the  flue, 
Beauty,  keep  no  more  aloof. 
Make  my  winter  dreaming  true, 
Give  my  fancy  proof. 

How  the  year  runs  back  to  June, 

To  the  day  I  saw  you  first ! 

In  the  sultry  afternoon 

There  the  mountains  lay  immersed 

In  a  summer  swoon. 

In  the  orchard  with  your  book, 
I  can  see  you  now  as  then  — 
99 


L       MIDWINTER       MEMORY 

That  serene  and  smiling  look, 
Far  away  and  back  again, 
While  my  spirit  shook. 

Now  the  frost  is  on  the  pane, 
And  the  winter  on  the  sea, 
Gold  across  the  iron  strain. 
Thought  of  you  comes  back  to  me, 
Like  a  lost  refrain. 

What  a  voice  it  was  I  heard ! 
All  your  j's  were  soft  as  d's, 
Like  the  nest-notes  of  a  bird, 
And  your  fingers  clasped  your  knees, 
As  you  smiled  each  word. 

Well  I  knew  you  for  the  one 
Sought  so  long  and  never  found. 
In  this  country  of  the  sun, 


A      MIDWINTER       MEMORY 

All  these  burning  summers  round. 
There,  the  search  was  done! 

Now  the  dark  is  at  the  door; 
Now  the  snow  is  on  the  sill ; 
And  for  all  I  may  deplore, 
Time  must  have  his  ancient  will  — 
Mar  one  lover  more. 


lOI 


AN    ANGEL    IN    PLASTER. 

Dear  smiling  little  snub-nosed  baby  face 
With  angel  wings, 

Be  thou  the  guardian  of  this  house,  and  grace 
Its  sublunary  things. 

Look  laughing  down,  O  blessed  babe,  and  lend 
That  guileless  charm. 
That  beaming  joy,  to  sweeten  and  defend 
Our  dwelling  from  all  harm. 

Bid  sorrow  shun  the  threshold  of  this  door, 
And  memory 

Cease  in  this  place  forever  to  deplore 
What  has  been  —  and  must  be. 

102 


AN      ANGEL       IN       PLASTER 

Come  sun  or  storm,  come  merriment  or  tears, 
No  care  can  fret 

Thy  radiant  spirit,  nor  the  heavy  years 
Invade  it  w^ith  regret. 

Surely  thou  art  a  traveller  from  a  land 
That  know^s  no  grief! 

The  life  of  men  thou  canst  not  understand  — 
So  turbulent,  so  brief. 

Yet  thou  must  tarry  here,  thou  darling  one, 
To  smile  and  bring 

Thoughts  of  the  world's  fair  youth,  a  fadeless  sun 
And  a  perpetual  spring. 


THE    END. 


103 


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